


327

by kelios



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother kissing, Happy Ending, M/M, Major Character Death (temporary), Sam and Dean in heaven, Soulmates, ep tag for 15.20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 13:28:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19928812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: Chuck has been hunting Sam and Dean since they destroyed his army of monsters. Now, worn down and at the end of their strength, our boys decide to take the fight to him.





	327

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS IN THE END NOTES**

It was Sam’s idea. And once Dean got past the horrified, knee-jerk _no_ that will always be his first reaction to something like this, he has to admit...it’s not _terrible_. It’s also not good, because no idea that includes the words _Sam_ and _dead_ in the same sentence will ever be _good_ , but more and more it’s looking like the best they’re going to come up with, and Dean’s _tired_. 

It’s been six months since Chuck’s psycho meltdown that made Amara’s tantrums look like child’s play. Four months since they finished off the last of the zombies and monsters that Chuck unleashed to taunt them with how useless their lives had been, four months since Chuck began hunting them, determined to bring them to heel once and for all. 

Three months since Castiel burned the last of his grace to reinforce the sigils carved into their bones with an Enochian spell that could hide them and their thoughts from anyone, even God himself. Sam and Dean had watched him crumble into dust as the magic holding his stolen flesh dissipated, their grief dulled by exhaustion and--on Dean’s part at least--a sneaking sense of relief. Castiel’s sacrifice had bought them a little time, but eventually it had become obvious that there were just as many people ready and willing to do God’s bidding as there had been when Zachariah--that bastard--had organized a human army to do what his spells and angelic powers couldn’t: Find the Winchesters. 

Since then their life had been an endless chase, trying to stay one step ahead of Chuck’s army of fanatics. They hadn’t had a meal that wasn’t convenience store gourmet in months, hadn’t had a bath in weeks, and Dean actually can’t remember the last time either of them slept more than a couple of hours a night--not since they’d left the bunker for a simple salt and burn and come home to a smoldering crater where the town of Lebanon had once been. 

Which all brings them to now. Hunched over a tiny fire in the woods outside Rufus’s cabin, slowly eating the handfuls of berries they’d scavenged while the acorn cakes Sam had put together and rabbit Dean had caught cooked with agonizing slowness. Dean looks over at Sam, at the way the flickering flames hide the shadows under his eyes and the sharpness of his cheekbones. He’d had to cut his hair to match Dean’s, poor attempt at disguise and poorly hidden disgust at it’s condition when it became clear they were going to be roughing it for awhile, but to Dean he’s never looked more beautiful. Then he looks up at Dean with a smile, and Dean has to amend his thoughts. _Now_ he’s never looked more beautiful. 

“I’ll take first watch tonight,” Dean says, clearing his throat roughly. It’s just the smoke, that’s all. Damn stuff is getting in his eyes too. “You should get some sleep after we eat.”

“Only if you promise to wake me up this time,” Sam says, and Dean pretends not to notice that his voice is rough too. Damn smoke. 

“You need the rest,” Dean argues. “And if I’m not tired--” Dean refuses to dignify Sam’s snort with a response, but he melts when Sam smiles again. 

“Let’s not argue tonight,” Sam says softly. “Let’s just...let’s just _be_. There’s time for everything else tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean agrees, helpless against the love and need in Sam’s voice, his face, his eyes. His everything, and Dean aches to hold him again before the end. “We can do that.” 

Sam stands up, long long shadow stretching out into the night as he moves around the fire to sit next to Dean. Dean lets him, doesn’t point out that they need to watch both directions, doesn’t object when Sam kisses him or when Sam’s huge hand comes up to cradle the back of his head like they have all the time in the world and a memory foam mattress waiting for them. Sam doesn’t take it further, though, turning back to the fire and pulling their dinner, such as it is, out of the flames. 

They talk quietly as they eat, remembering. It feels a bit like a wake, like they’re eulogizing themselves, but it’s not as awkward as it could be, certainly not as frantic as any of their other last nights on earth. When their meal is done and the fire is banked Sam stretches out, his pack under his head, and despite the need to keep watch Dean stretches out next to him. Sam raises an eyebrow, _yeah?_ whispered out against Dean’s lips and even in this there’s a calm sense of peace and rightness Dean’s never felt at the beginning of the end before. 

Sam falls asleep pretty quickly after they clean up as best they can, a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. Dean refills their canteen from the seep a few yards from camp and settles in to watch the night. 

The next morning is bright and cheerful, painfully so. Dean’s head throbs with hunger and lack of sleep and dehydration and he can tell Sam isn’t much better by the way he doesn’t scold Dean for letting him sleep. But they push it all down as they pack up their meager belongings and move quietly down the mountain toward the cabin and the fanatics Chuck had assigned to watch it. 

As expected, there's a crowd around the sleek dark shape parked outside the cabin, as though Chuck's army expects Dean and Sam to come back for her at any moment. It had killed a small part of Dean to leave her there, but they'd needed a way to advertise their presence without giving away their exact location, so they'd left Baby there two days ago when she'd run out of gas for the last time. None of the civilians Chuck had recruited knew the first thing about surviving in the woods, and Sam and Dean had evaded them easily while eavesdropping on their conversations when the opportunity arose. They'd learned the day before that Chuck was coming to lead the search himself, and that was the final piece they’d been waiting for now that their minds were made up.

"There," Sam says quietly, nodding carefully toward the clearing. The air is shimmering, a small dust cloud swirling and coalescing into a human shape that had to be Chuck. "Let's go." He starts to stand, and Dean pulls him down for one last kiss, hard and fast, before letting him go.

"Let's do this." 

Twenty feet away, a fully materialized Chuck is holding court for his adoring fans. He turns to point towards the forest and stops, a smile tinged with mania slowly spreading across his face. 

"Well hey, Sam. Dean. Look what the cat dragged in."

Dean doesn't respond, and neither does Sam. They'd talked about this, planned their movements, and as Chuck cackles gleefully about the plotlines and story arcs he’s planned for them Sam steps close to Dean, presses warm and solid against his back. Dean raises his hand, steadied by Sam's, and Chuck's eyes widen as he takes in the gun they're holding together. 

"What--”

“I love you,” Sam whispers, and they pull the trigger. 

It’s not as loud as Dean thought it would be, somehow, despite years of evidence to the contrary. Everything seems to move in slow motion--Chuck staggers when the bullet strikes, dull impact in Dean’s chest and the immediate warmth of blood against his back. _Sammy--_ he thinks, and then he’s on his knees, Sam a heavy weight against his shoulder. It’s hard to turn around--his arm feels dead and numb, like he’s pushed too hard, but he gets it around his brother anyway and pulls him close. 

“Sammy,” he says again, out loud this time, and Sam blinks at him muzzily then closes his eyes again with a sigh as Dean’s world goes dark.  
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Something’s tickling Dean’s nose. Soft and warm and it smells like...something familiar. Sam. Sam’s hair. Sam’s hair is tickling Dean’s face and if Dean could just get five minutes alone with a sleeping Sam and a pair of clippers--

Dean bolts upright, hands and eyes flying to the still form beside him, groping for a pulse, a sign of life. Sam stirs--thank God--and opens his eyes, ready to complain when he remembers. 

“Dean?” he gasps, and then he’s tearing at Dean’s shirt, desperate to see the smooth, unmarked skin of his chest, to know that this is real. 

“Easy, easy,” Dean says, catching Sam’s hands, like he hadn’t been in full on panic mode approximately thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine, I think. You?” 

Sam nods, eyes wet, and let’s Dean check for himself. Dean notices as he does so that they’re both clean, bodies, clothes and hair, and when he kisses Sam his mouth tastes like mint and _Sam_ rather than roadkill. Sam kisses him back eagerly, breaking apart to lean his forehead against Dean’s and just _breathe_ for a moment. 

“Is this heaven?” Sam asks, looking around eventually. They’re sitting in knee deep grass about ten feet from a seemingly endless blacktop road, grass and trees and a solid white line stretching off in either direction as far as they can see. 

“Sure seems like it to me,” Dean says with a small, private smile, and Sam blushes as he leans in to kiss Dean again. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

“You know, a thank you would be nice.”

Dean pulls back so fast he knocks their teeth together, turning to stare up at the familiar figure standing over them. 

We--uh--that was--” Sam and Dean both stammer out a string of nonsense, and Billie just rolls her eyes at them. 

“Please. Like I care what you humans do for pleasure. I just came by to check on you, not smite you.” 

Dean just stares at her, feeling stupid, but Sam gets it. “You decided not to throw us into The Empty,” he says slowly, standing up and pulling Dean with him. “Why?”

“And thank you,” Dean finally manages to get out helpfully. 

Billie studies them for a moment, clearly weighing her answer. “Because none of it was your fault. You didn’t ask to be soulmates, you didn’t ask to be dangled like meat puppets from God’s strings for his sick amusement.” She looks angry at that. “None of us asked for that--none of us wanted that. He abused our trust, all of us.” 

“So you’re angry at him now, not us,” Sam says warily, just as Dean blurts out “So that means you owe us, right?”

Billie huffs in exasperation. “You sure do know how to push your luck, don’t you, Dean? To answer your question, Sam, I and all the other reapers and eternal beings who have to put up with your shit are still pretty annoyed with you both. But to quote Dean...yes. We owe you. You did what none of us had the courage to do.” 

“And heaven is our reward.” The wonder in Sam’s voice warms Dean’s heart. It’s about damn time the kid got something good for a change, not to mention a little appreciation. 

“Well, things aren’t completely stable yet,” Billie tells them, holding up a hand. “There are only a handful of heavenly angels left, and some of them are less happy with you than others. But currently they’re all so busy trying to keep heaven on an even keel that they shouldn’t have time to bother you all. And the rest of us are working to bring them around. So we want you to keep an eye on things. Make sure nothing goes down--no rogue angels, no demons trying to break in, no souls getting up to hijinks now that word is getting around about how to go walkabout. You see anything like that, you give me a holler, you hear?”

“So we’re the new sheriffs in town?” Dean can’t help himself, never could--he’s got to see that scowl one more time. 

“What Dean means is, of course we can do that,” Sam says tactfully. “Although…”

Billie’s eyes narrow. “What.”

“Is there any chance we could get the Impala back?”

“The car?” Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard the reaper sound so hilariously offended and incredulous at the same time. He also can’t believe _Sam_ thought to ask about his Baby before he did. Must have been a heretofore unremembered knock to the head. 

“It’s not really heaven if Baby’s not here too,” Dean chimes in, and Billie rolls her eyes again. Dean snickers under his breath then mutters _ow_ when Sam elbows him discretely. 

“Fine. But this is the last thing we owe you.” A wave of her hand, and the heatwaves shimmering off the highway in the distance begin to solidify into a familiar shiny black form. When Sam and Dean look back, Billie’s gone. 

“I guess we better start walking,” Sam says, nudging Dean with his shoulder. “We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a death fic, in that Sam and Dean die killing God. But it's a happy ending, I promise.


End file.
